


Humiliation, lingering

by FunHatingKobold



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian, aubreyad
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:01:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29566503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunHatingKobold/pseuds/FunHatingKobold
Summary: I've often thought that O'Brian has done such an amazing job with his Aubreyad, that there's so much in it, that fanfiction couldn't really come up with anything new. That is, as far as Jack and Stephen are concerned. But one thing I wish we had more of is Ledward and Wray. Doomed gay traitors hatching evil plans? Yes, please!I don't have the time to write (and research) a breath-taking Napoleonic spy thriller, but the two assholes have been on my mind all day, so this happened.
Relationships: Andrew Wray/Edward Ledward





	Humiliation, lingering

**Author's Note:**

> I've often thought that O'Brian has done such an amazing job with his Aubreyad, that there's so much in it, that fanfiction couldn't really come up with anything new. That is, as far as Jack and Stephen are concerned. But one thing I wish we had more of is Ledward and Wray. Doomed gay traitors hatching evil plans? Yes, please!
> 
> I don't have the time to write (and research) a breath-taking Napoleonic spy thriller, but the two assholes have been on my mind all day, so this happened.

The opening and closing of the door woke Wray. He did not open his eyes, nor did he stir, but when Ledward inquired in a loud whisper whether he was asleep, Wray, after a long, reluctant pause, answered.

"Good," said Ledward and felt in the darkness for the oil lamp. "You would not mind some light then." It was a statement, not a question, so Wray said nothing.  
  
"He asked for you."  
  
"You don't need to give me an account," said Wray peevishly and turned his back to the other man. The light hurt his eyes, even through the closed lids.  
  
"I wasn't going to. What I meant to say is, I had to make excuses for you. You know how touchy he is, we can't afford to offend him. You are coming next time, and with a gift. I promised you'll bring him a gift. Good God, man, you are still fully dressed! In this heat!"  
  
Wray had returned a couple of hours earlier from an exhausting and disastrously unprofitable evening of heavy drinking and heavy losses at cards, and undressing before collapsing on the bed had seemed like too much effort. Now he regretted it, he felt unclean and disgusted with himself. He wished Ledward had gone to his own lavish apartments instead, but here he was, in a rarely talkative mood and full of reproach.  
  
"You've consoled him well and good I'm sure. I can smell him on you still. I wonder how the Sultan hasn't discovered you yet, he only has to..."  
  
"Discovered _us_ you mean. What is this now? Jealousy?" Ledward laughed, and - convinced that he was being mocked - Wray pulled his knees up to his chest, curling himself into a ball. A snappish answer would have been in order, but a snappish answer he was not capable of. "Listen, it is you who refused to come. We have work to do, and you need to be pulling your weight, Andrew, I can't have you losing your nerve."  
  
Wray felt him sit on the bed. Ledward kept talking, about their plans, about Abdul and how important he was, how they needed his influence, but Wray did not listen to any of it. He knew the plan, he'd had a big part in his conception, but he was getting weary of it. Everything had gone terribly wrong, he had lost everything thanks to Jack Aubrey and that stunted Irish reptile Maturin; his reputation, his influence, his fortune, all gone, and now he was losing his friend as well. He could feel a gap opening between himself and Ledward. He could not blame it on Abdul, Abdul was everything he - they both - could have wished for, he was young, and beautiful, and skilled beyond belief, the Sultan had not picked him as his favourite for nothing. Wray and Ledward had shared boys before, and had this been one of those cases of simple uncomplicated desire, Wray would have given himself to it wholeheartedly. But this was work. Ledward never failed to remind him, this was work, and bloody dangerous one at that. Abdul was a whore - an uncommonly beautiful and expensive one - but they were the ones whoring themselves out. Performing. Wray was beginning to forget how true, sincere lust felt, sincere affection, not every gesture, every caress planned and measured, calculated to please, and after that the bargaining, the exchange of sparse bits of information, gifts and promises of future favours.   
  
And now Maturin was here as well, haunting them like the malicious demon he was. They had to run while they still could, leave Pulo Prabang, find their way back to Paris.  
  
"I..."  
  
"You can do it," Ledward cut him off. "You will do it. This is our last chance after your cock up in London, we need to see this through or it wouldn't matter who would have our heads, the English, he Sultan or our own people."  
  
They lapsed into silence, and Ledward put his hand on Wray's thigh and began to stroke it, as if apologising for the harsh words.  
  
"I thought, since you didn't come, you might have liked me to..." but he withdrew his hand and stood up. "But I need to sleep, and you need to pull yourself together. Good-night, Andrew." And just like that he was gone, taking the light with him.


End file.
